


Maid of Honour

by TarnishedArmour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TarnishedArmour/pseuds/TarnishedArmour
Summary: Hermione agreed to help Fleur and stand as her maid of honour, but she never, ever expected this!





	1. What????

“Fleur, we hardly know one another! Why on Earth would you want _me_ to be your maid of honour? Shouldn't Ginny or Gabrielle stand up with you?” Hermione stared at the lovely French witch and hoped, however faintly, for a logical explanation.

“Eet ees quite seemple,” Fleur responded, calm and composed in the face of English histronics. “Zis tradition ees in place due to ze nature of ze magical contract Guillame and I signed for ze license to marree. One of us _must_ marry today, zough zhere can be ze...eh, zircumztances zat do no' let one of ze promized pair to wed. If zhere ees an ancient contract or an unekzpected, bah, _lien de sang?”_

“Blood tie?” Hermione offered.

_“Oui._ Blood tie between us, zhen we canno' marree each ozzer, but one of us can marree ze best man or maid of honour. If neizzer of us can comply, zhen ze maid of honour and ze best man will marree, w'ich matchez ze contract. Zat 'as no' 'appened in nearly seven 'undred years, zough. A bride or groom marree-ing ze witness 'as no' 'appened in nearly two 'undred.” 

“That means Ginny can't stand up with you because Charlie is standing up with Bill.” Hermione grimaced at the thought. “Why not Gabrielle?”

“She ees too young,” Fleur replied with a Gallic shrug, “and anyzing zat would not allow me to marree Beel would prevent 'er marreege to 'im as well.”

Hermione shook her head. “I am not going to pretend I understand that, but all right. I'll be your maid of honour.” She didn't bother to ask why there wasn't a matron of honour – it was one of those things that was painfully obvious after an explanation of something else. On the other hand, explanations were sometimes fun to get anyway. “Why not a matron of honour?” 

“A marreed witch?” Fleur was appalled. “Zhe would 'ave two 'uzbands, zhen, and men are no' good when eet comes to sharing zheir witch.”

“The fact that it's illegal might also have something to do with it,” Hermione added dryly.

_“Oui.”_ Fleur hugged her then, a huge smile on her face. “I cannot zhank you enou', 'Ermione! Come, we must 'ave you sign ze witness lines of ze contract. Zen we will 'ave ze dress altered to fit you, and...”

The list had gone on and on for quite some time, but the execution of that list was frighteningly quick.

In less than four hours, Fleur was going to be married to Bill, and Hermione was at the French witch's mercy until then. She considered it a kind of bloodless, fashion-based revenge for the various wars and territory the French had lost to the English over the centuries, exacted most cleverly by an enthusiastic bride on her wedding day. By the time her hair had been twisted and pinned into place, her scalp was quite certain said revenge included torture. The dress, a pale blue version of Fleur's wedding dress as tradition required, was gorgeous; however, when the corset top of the dress was put into place, Hermione's cinched waist, bound ribs, squeezed lungs, and squashed-into-startling-fullness breasts agreed with her scalp. Hermione's brain most likely would have conceded the point, but it was slightly oxygen-starved by the time she was finished dressing, so it was limited in its scope to “don't trip, don't trip, breathe, don't trip, breathe, don't trip...”

Everything was done, no problems arose, and they were moments from the officiate's greeting to the gathering when a minor Ministry official popped in and spoke rapidly to the parents of the bride. Fleur's mother paled significantly, and her father closed his eyes in some emotion that could have been relief or disappointment. The official hurried up to the couple and witnesses, apologized profusely, and destroyed Hermione's life in a handful of sentences.

“I am sorry, Miss Delacouer, but you are not permitted to marry Mr. Weasley. You and your sister were contracted out three hundred years ago by your Veela ancestresses, and you will be required to marry into the Malfoy line. Gabrielle will be marrying the closest living relative to the Lestrange line, which is Marcus Flint. Miss...”

“Granger,” Hermione managed.

“Miss Granger – OH!” The man's eyes went wide. Voldemort had been defeated for only two months, and Hermione was quite the heroine from the Battle of Hogwarts. “Yes, Miss Granger, well, I do apologize for the abrupt change of plans, but I am afraid you will be required to stand for the bride, with Miss Delacouer as your maid of honour.”

_“Non,”_ Fleur said, eyes sad and sweet, “I must go to ze Malfoy estate et marree. Ze arrangements will be quite seemple, but ze contract.” The Gallic shrug that accompanied that declaration somehow was made even more galling by the matter-of-fact tone of voice Fleur used. She loved Bill, but she was going to go honour a contract her great-great-great-great-great grandmother had made for her. _C'est la vie._ Such was life. 

“Yes. Yes, I do,” the official said. “I will accompany you and perform the ceremony for you. Your sister, of course, will have a few years before she is required to marry...”

Fleur looked at the man she had come to love, smiled at him softly, and kissed his cheek. She stepped back as he gave her the same sad smile, turned to Hermione and performed the Bridal Charm for her. Muriel's tiara was also transferred, and Hermione's power radiated from her in a near-blinding white light. 

Hermione looked like she was about to faint, so Harry hurried up beside her as Fleur and her family Disapparated.


	2. With friends and siblings like these...

“You alright, love?” he asked, wrapping an arm around her. 

Hermione nodded, straightened up, took as deep a breath as she could – which wasn't very deep at all – and nodded to the officiate. Harry stood up with her as her man of honour, and it was a very good thing that the Grangers had no ties to the wizarding world, as neither Harry nor Bill were enamoured of one another and the marriage rites didn't differentiate gender when demanding completion of vows. There was a very-well documented cautionary tale of the Unhappy Husbands of Gloucester from 1487 that illustrated this quite well, but Hermione had not yet done her wedding research, so she would not find that particular little gem for several years yet.

Hermione repeated her vows, sounding quite sure and steady about it all. Her hand was placed in Bill's at the time of the binding, her hand tied to his with beautiful white and silver ribbons, and she almost gasped when she felt Bill's magic brush against hers. When the officiate finished the binding part of the ceremony, Bill took the salted bread and herbed wine, fed her the bread and held the cup for her to drink the wine. When she had finished the wine, she looked up at him, curious and confused – wizarding weddings were quite different from their Muggle counterparts, including the vows, several of which she would have deemed unnecessary and an essential part of the common vows – and in response, he closed his eyes, revealing publicly for the first time his power, much as the tiara had revealed hers. It was an intimate thing that was only indulged in private settings, or at weddings, and then only from the bride and groom in order to prove the match was well-made and even.

As it turned out, they were evenly matched, and several of the guests conjured Muggle sunglasses so they could watch the final part of the binding without damaging their sight. The officiate had conjured his own shades, as had Harry and Charlie, and the wedding continued without anyone noticing the extra little spells up on the dais.

“In magic were you conceived, in magic were you reared, and in magic have you lived separately. This day, let your magic recognize your mate, your lover, your other half. Let your magic bind you to one another in power as you have been bound by your vows.” The officiate took a breath, closed his eyes, and said, “Let the kiss of power begin. Bill, kiss your bride.”

Bill leaned forward, brushed his lips against Hermione's, and they felt the ribbons snap around their wrists tightly, slowly dissolving into their skin. He kept his lips against hers, and Hermione, feeling a bit awkward, parted her lips just enough to invite a _real_ kiss as opposed to that dry, strange pause of motion. Bill's head tipped a bit more to the side as he took her invitation and carefully deepened the kiss, though even that couldn't distract her from the feel of the ribbons melting against and into her skin. 

Harry winced behind his sunglasses as the light pouring from Hermione and Bill tripled in brightness and actually began to throw off heat as well. It was like standing next to a miniature sun as it was just getting started. He closed his eyes and decided to wait for sunset.

As the last of the ribbons lost their corporeal form and became magical tattoos on the skin of the bride and groom, the kiss ended, and the blinding light finally dissipated. There was a romantic sigh of relief from all involved as the officiate motioned to the couple and said to all, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. William Arthur Weasley.”

The couple walked down the aisle together and up to the house, to change into their post-ceremony clothing, which was a less formal version of their wedding clothing, but the change was necessary for witches and wizards lest their magic-saturated clothing flare unexpectedly when confronted by inebriated or irritated guests. 

Harry and Ron followed, going up with Hermione into Ginny's room.

“So,” Harry said softly, “you and Bill, eh? Not surprised. It's a good match.”

“It is?” she asked, then sat down abruptly on Ginny's bed. “Oh, bloody hell! I just married Bill. BLOODY BUGGERING FUCK – IJUSTMARRIEDYOURBROTHER!” she shrieked at Ron.

“Yeah,” he said laconically. “I noticed that. It's a good match.”

“WHY do you both keep saying that???” She was about two breaths from hyperventilating, made more likely by the tight corset top.

“Well, you like books. He likes books...” Ron said. 

Hermione turned to look at him, her expression purely gobsmacked as she mouthed, “I like books...he likes books...YOU BLOODY PRAT!” The last was screamed as she lunged upward and began slapping at Ron's head and shoulders with her hands, forcing him to duck and cover his head with his arms while repeatedly saying “Ow! Ow! Hey, watch it! What did I say? Ow!”

Harry managed to get Hermione turned away from her other best friend by the simple expedient of picking her up and turning her the other way.

“There, now. Feel better?”

Hermione paused in her flailing and thought for a moment. “Actually, yes.” 

“I thought you might. Beating up Ron does seem to have a therapeutic effect,” Harry grinned. At her disgruntled look, he pointed out, “Besides, you need to change, and you are a married witch now.”

“Yes, I suppose I am, although...” Her eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh, my.” She sat down again abruptly. “I have to have sex with Bill.”

“Well, that does usually go along with the whole marriage bit,” Ron said, staying well out of range of his friend's rather spectacular reach. Who would have thought a witch _that_ short could reach _that_ high, especially in _that_ dress while jumping up and down on _those_ heels?

Hermione paled. “Tonight. My wedding night. Oh, bloody hell! What if I'm lousy in bed? What if he isn't attracted to me enough to... Look at Fleur! She was bloody gorgeous, and I'm just... And what if he wants to do kinky things that are really rather gross? Or what about – “

“Enough.” Harry said, his voice that same calm, authoritative tone that managed to catch anyone's attention now that he had reached his full power. She felt a little shiver as his power laced his voice and skittered across her skin. He was _directing_ that tone now, and it was hard to resist. “You are married, even though you didn't expect it. D'you remember all those romances you found while we were on the run? What you were always complaining about when the 'little twit' doesn't recognize a good thing when it happens and proceeds to muck it all up with 'pointless histrionics and refusal to communicate'?”

Hermione nodded, frowning. She was not going to like where this was going.

“Right. You're stuck in that same kind of situation now, and it's up to you whether you act the twit or go about it 'the right way' instead.” Harry kissed her forehead and smiled at her. “Take the chance, Hermione.”

“I hardly know him,” she whispered. “I thought I'd at least be a little in love with my husband...”

“It takes time, love.” He kissed her forehead again. “Now, let's get you changed, yeah?”

“Alright,” she murmured, turning around, thinking hard with her still-oxygen-starved-now-adrenaline-laced brain. It wasn't easy, and between the physically difficulty and the odd feeling of having trouble at what she did best – thinking – she was more than a bit off-kilter. 

She felt Harry's fingers on the laces and heard Ron summon the second dress from where it hung in the tiny closet. She didn't really notice that Ron and Harry noticed her figure and communicated with one of those masculine glances that Bill was a lucky sod as they both admired her breasts rather more than they ought. 

“Looks like you've been eating right,” Harry murmured. “I can't see your ribs anymore.”

“I don't feel exhausted all the time, either,” Hermione said as Harry laced her into her second gown, this time not quite as tightly. 

“Good.” He kissed her forehead again. “You look gorgeous, and he'd be a fool not to want you.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she said with a sweet smile.

“Yeah. He won't want to talk about books once he gets you out of that dress, so maybe lead off with undoing the laces?” Ron added, his perfect timing ensuring that her jaw dropped and her temper spiked right before he nipped out of the room.

“Oh, and, Hermione?” Harry said, following his graceless friend, “Don't forget you're going to get well-shagged tonight...so go without knickers for the rest of the day, yeah?”

The reality of weddings, wedding nights, marital rights, and the fact she was still very much untouched (though not without some severely wicked thoughts) all crashed down on her at once, along with Ron's aside about not wanting to talk about books. 

“BLOODY HELL!” she screeched before flumping down on the bed and staring off into space.

***

Downstairs in the grooms' changing room, Bill cornered his youngest brother and shoved him up against the wall.

“What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing, upsetting a witch on her wedding day?” he hissed. It was widely held to be one of the stupidest things any wizard could do, and Bill did _not_ want to deal with a pissed-off, upset, and _unexpectedly-wedded_ bride tonight.

Ron gave him a long look. “Let go of me and sit down. I'll explain everything.” The look from Bill said he'd better have a very, very good explanation. Ron did. “She's more nervous than I've ever seen her, and both Harry and I know that if she stays like that, she'll have a hair-trigger on her wand. She doesn't cast tickling spells anymore, so we thought it'd be better if you survived past your wedding day, yeah?” He paused, then scrubbed at his face. “Look, we're none of us in the best shape, still, and she's scared. She doesn't really know you, and tonight...” 

Bill took a breath, looked down at the floor, and nodded. “Yeah.”

“She's a virgin – hell, well all are,” he added the last because none of the trio were able or willing to handle a relationship yet, much less someone in their bed, or, in Hermione's case, inside her body. “And I figured that it'd be better for both of you if you could mention something about me, which would get her mind off her nerves and what was going to happen and get her irritated with me – which is much easier way to deal with her than when she's nervy.”

Harry came in then, and sat down next to Ron. “She was also told that the last time this particular change of brides happened was nearly two hundred years ago, so she had convinced herself she was simply a stand-in because Gin and Gabrielle couldn't stand up with Fleur. Everything about this has been a last-minute surprise, so she's nervous. Soon, she'll be irritated at herself because she's nervous, which makes her temper flare, and that makes her feel guilty because it usually flares at the wrong person, and it just spirals from there.” Harry gave Bill a crooked grin at the suspicious look the newly-married wizard was giving him. “Seven years of friendship, one crammed into that fucking tent...we got to know each other pretty well. There's nothing else between any of us. We're just close friends.” 

Even that wasn't entirely accurate, but it would do. How exactly did one quantify and qualify and label the experiences they had shared and the relationship they had built? Harry didn't know, and wasn't about to try it without plenty of time to think of it. Especially not without time to bounce ideas off Hermione.

“Besides, handling Hermione is a skill that takes years to master,” Ron said, grinning, “and at that, it takes both of us. If she turns incomprehensible, just send an Owl.”

Bill shook his head. “So she's nervous and innocent, and it probably hasn't sunk in that she was the bride. Not yet, at any rate.”

“Not quite yet, no.” Ron agreed.

“It will at some point. Stay only long enough to be polite and then head off on the honeymoon. How short can you cut the reception?” Harry asked, looking at the wall clock.

Bill shrugged. “Thirty minutes or so. The mothers traditionally take care of the gifts while the couple is away, which makes sure that no hexes or cursed objects get through. The fathers scan the gifts, along with any male family members, and the mothers open, verify, and record the gifts so thanks can be sent out after the couple returns from the honeymoon.” At the boys' surprised expressions, Bill explained. “I got to help out a friend who married while we were in Egypt. Since he was Muggleborn and didn't have any family who could, a few of us took on the duties.”

Harry absorbed this information, nodded, and Ron spoke, “Good. The shorter the better. Where are you going?”

“Portkey to Svalbard,” Bill said with a smile, “in Norway. The glaciers were one of the places that...” He paused. “Well, I'd wanted to see, though I'm not sure Hermione would be interested.”

“Sounds like something she'd love, provided you have a cabin to stay in?” Harry grinned at Bill, careful to reassure him that the rather expensive trip wasn't going to be wasted.

“Well, we start in Svalbard, and, over the course of a month, work our way down to the greener areas of the country. There are a few things that I booked ahead of time, but most of the trip is unplanned.”

“Good. Leave plenty of time for libraries, castles, and places of historical significance – wizarding and Muggle.” Ron laughed. “Even when we were on the run, she'd find something about where we were hiding that had historical significance.”

“The Forest of Dean...” Harry said, starting to laugh. 

“Midpoint...” Ron gasped through his laughter.

“Bloody insane,” Bill murmured, shaking his head and walking out of his changing room, attired in his second suit, the luggage he would need in his pocket. Thinking that Hermione would want to get her luggage out as well, he walked up the stairs to Ginny's room and knocked on the door.


	3. Honeymooning, or something like it

“Come in,” Hermione said, mind still busy with what was going to happen later that night, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth on automatic.

“Hermione do you have any luggage that you'll need?” Bill asked, then he looked at her. Wide brown eyes stared back at him. “Are you all right?”

“Y-yes.” She shook her head and blinked once or twice. “Sorry. Just got caught up...” At his expression, she shook her head again, tried to breathe in a manner that mostly resembled normal. “It's nothing important. You asked about something?”

“Luggage, for the honeymoon,” he said, the last coming out more awkwardly than it had sounded in his head.

“Right. Oh. Luggage – no. I have everything in my bag...” She lifted the hem of her skirt and revealed a small beaded bag firmly attached to the top of one gartered stocking. “Including a tent, potions, medical supplies, a small reference library, my entire wardrobe, three beds, blankets, and a small cupboard with a stasis spell for food storage. I think I refilled it last week.”

“Right...” Bill nodded, a bit dazed at her list. “So, all that in the beaded bag?”

“And a few more things – three brooms, cauldron and potion ingredients, six spare wands, two trophy wands, a billy club, a full Muggle tool kit, a bicycle, a pistol with ammunition (.44 calibre, which has a lot of stopping power), two reams of parchment and about three dozen quills with assorted inks, brewing kit with knives...” She thought for a minute. “There's assorted other things, but that's most of the important stuff. OH! Except the Swiss Army knife. Can't forget that.”

“Of course,” he agreed. He looked at the bag again, this time noticing the long expanse of tight, well-shaped, muscular leg it was attached to. He licked his lips unconsiously. “Undetectable Extension Charm, then? Your work?”

“Yes. Along with a few others, to keep it all organized, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Was that all?” she asked, feeling the awkward moment return after prattling on about her lovely little survival kit. _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ she chided herself.

“No, but if you're packed and changed, we do need to go down to see our guests.” He held out his hand, relieved when she took it. A smooth transfer from his hand to his forearm, and Hermione was walking down the stairs with him, looking every inch the happy, somewhat nervous, bride with her handsome groom. They walked down to the tent, talking softly about nothing in particular.

They were greeted by the cheer of nearly three hundred guests, including Professors, the Minister of Magic, relatives and friends and schoolmates. Several handshakes later, Hermione and Bill were ushered out of the crowd by Arthur, who smiled at them both as he took them to the boundary of the wards at The Burrow and handed Bill the Portkey.

“Enjoy your honeymoon,” he said, a knowing spark in his kind blue eyes. Hermione realized that Bill had his father's eyes. “Remember, don't tell anyone where you're going, and welcome to the family, my dear,” he finished, hugging Hermione.

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes a little fuller than they had been. It felt good to be considered one of the family now, not the outsider that she had always really been.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bill said, hugging his father. Then Arthur stepped back and Bill handed half of the Portkey to Hermione – a thin gold chain that would become her belly-chain, a sensual piece of jewelry that was traditionally provided by the father of the groom for the new couple's mutual enjoyment. Bill said, “Sunshine,” and the Portkey activated, carrying them off to Svalbard and the frozen world of the Arctic Circle.

***

Hermione looked out of the window of the snug, dark cabin. “Is it night?” she asked, staring outside.

“Yes, but where we are, well, it's polar day – 24 hours of sunlight,” he admitted. “We're in Norway – Svalbard to be exact.” He didn't keep talking, but he desperately wanted to explain why he'd chosen a place above the Arctic Circle to take his new bride.

Hermione blinked. “Really?” At his nod, she smiled. “I've always wanted to see the glaciers – not the little ones in the high mountains, but the _real_ ones that are ever so big...” She stopped suddenly, blushing. “But you probably don't want to listen to me go on about that.”

“It's alright,” Bill said, his hand sliding into hers, the chain of the Portkey forgotten. He stepped a little closer, moving to stand in front of her and smiling at her blush. She was a charming girl – woman – and now she was his wife. He could kiss her if he wanted to, and suddenly he wanted to. 

Bill's lips were on hers, light and gentle, and Hermione felt her nerves starting back up. Did he want to... Already? Without even unpacking? Or...or anything else? Instead of breaking away to ask him all of those half-formed questions, she returned the kiss, letting him lead and taking her time to become familiar with those unusually lovely lips – for a man. It wasn't long until the kiss had deepened and she found herself melting into him, her body becoming softer and more pliant as the kiss continued, a strange, welcome heat filling her and making her knees spongy and her spine supple. As his tongue made its first foray into her mouth, she moaned softly, clinging to him.

She didn't notice they had moved away from the center of the room, didn't notice that they were lying down and her laces were half-undone until there was a knock on the cabin door.

“Oh!” she breathed as the kiss ended. She was lying on the bed, her dress loose, but not pulled up or down, Bill's arms around her, his shirt unbuttoned and his lips reddened from their prolonged kiss. _I suppose this whole sex thing will be easy, if that's how I react to him,_ Hermione thought, vaguely rational.

“Who is it?” Bill managed to call out.

“Registration, Mr. Weasley!” Bill cursed and walked to the door a bit awkwardly. He opened the door after palming the runes for the environmental charm to take effect as the door opened. Without the runes, there would be a bitter blast of freezing air, and he did _not_ want anything to cool his ardor – or his bride's. “You really should have come by immediately...” the clerk began, then she looked at Bill for the first time, taking in exactly what she had interrupted. “Oh. Sorry...”

“Honeymoon,” Bill explained everything with that one word. “Paper?”

“Right,” the clerk held out the parchment and Bill tapped it with his wand. He had signed it weeks ago when he had booked the trip, but he couldn't be billed until he activated his signature. “I'll be going now. Room service will pop a tray to you in a few hours – remote Elf service, no one will come in. Congratulations!”

And with that, the clerk with incredibly poor timing scuttled away across the ice and Bill closed the door, palming the runes off.

“Well,” he said, turning to look at Hermione, “that was...”

“Yes,” she agreed with a little laugh. He smiled in return. She bit her lip, held out her hand. “Are-are you coming back?” she whispered.

Bill's expression lightened as he nodded and returned to the bed where his bride was waiting. He stretched out beside her again, this time taking long enough to slip off his shoes, and turned to face her again. 

“Are you certain?” he asked, brushing a stray curl from her face. Hermione didn't notice – her scalp had long since gone numb, so the slight disarray of her carefully coiffed curls was of no concern to her. “We can wait.” As offers went, it was one of the hardest he had ever made. Merlin, Morgana, and the Goblin gods help him if she said she wanted to wait.

“I'm sure,” she whispered. After a moment's hesitation, “I think it's best now...after that kiss...”

“Right.” Somehow, he said the word, but it was a near thing. He felt that heat rising again. He wanted this witch, and she was willing...it was enough. 

“Kiss me again?” she asked, blushing. When Bill complied with her request, Hermione felt her senses reel, her bones melt, and her reservations disappear in a fog of that strange, sweet heat that was filling her from toes to crown. His kisses grew stronger, more carnal, and Hermione did her best to meet him step for step, though it was clear that she was not an experienced witch. “Hot,” she gasped as Bill's lips left hers and started to forge a trail down her neck.

“Hang on,” he murmured against her skin. Fingers tangled in laces and then she felt a chill as the cool air of the room greeted skin so recently covered by a corset top. The dress was pulled down as Bill moved away from her long enough to manage that and take his first look at his bride's body. “Bloody hell,” he whispered as he saw her garter belt and stockings, her heels, the beaded bag on one thigh, her wand holstered on the other, and no knickers. She had taken Harry's advice after all.

Before Hermione could ask or object, Bill was beside her, kissing her again, and whatever thought she'd had flew right out of her head. Hermione managed to retain enough of her sensibility this time to start tugging at Bill's shirt and suitcoat, wanting to feel his skin against hers, his heat against her. The coat and shirt were disposed of quickly, but he broke off the kiss again to pull his undershirt over his head. Hermione didn't have long to wait before his lips found hers again. She gasped into his mouth as she felt his skin against hers for the first time, felt the rasp of his chest hair against her breasts. 

Everything was moving so fast now...from kisses to caresses, and somehow, his trousers came off, too and he was settled over her, her legs spread for his to stretch between...and still the kisses continued, the caresses continued, and Hermione let him steal her thoughts with this delicious physicality, something she had long thought a fiction embedded in those romances with the twitty little heroines...she was wrong, and she was quite delighted about it, if she could remember what romances, heroines, wrong, and physicality were at the moment.

“Hermione,” Bill said after breaking their kiss again. “Look at me, love.” She managed, her brown eyes lightened to a dark whiskey colour and dazed. “This is your first time, right?” She nodded. “I need to...need to cast a shield. In case you flare. Just hang on to me. Like that.” She wrapped her arms around him and felt his power surge through his body and down his wand arm. His lips were moving against her ear, though she couldn't hear the shield charm he was using, and since he didn't need her to do anything, she concentrated on kissing his neck and shoulder. He groaned softly and dropped his wand to the bed. He lifted up a bit, repositioned himself between her legs, and looked down at her. “Kiss me, love,” he whispered.

Hermione did, initiating for the first time one of those sweet, mind-altering kisses. He should be considered an illegal substance, with those kisses and those caresses...

Hermione arched suddenly as she felt him push into her, crying out as she broke the kiss, her magic flaring wildly at the unexpected pain. She felt his magic through it all, soothing and smoothing out her flares as he whispered nonsense to her and held her close. Tears leaked from her eyes as the push of him continued, her magic flaring wild six more times before he was seated fully inside her.

“It hurts...” she managed, finally.

“I know, Hermione, I know. Let go. Let it go. Don't fight it,” Bill watched as his words finally made it through to her.

“I'm not...I'm not fighting, Bill...”

Bill closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “No one told you about this, did they?” he asked, though the answer was obvious. He cursed softly as he held on, hoping she would settle soon because her flares were becoming painful – and there was another one.

“Tell me what?” she asked, feeling her magic spike again.

“That you have to want _me,_ to accept _me,_ not just sex or your husband,” he moved to look into her eyes again. “Everyone thought you knew – I thought you knew, or you wouldn't have said you were sure.”

“How...how do I do that?” Hermione asked. “Is there a spell or a ritual...?”

Bill dropped his head against her should her again and laughed, a pained little sound. “Oh, gods, you are so innocent,” he whispered. “I'm sorry, love. I thought you knew...thought you wanted me...”

“I...I did – I do!” Hermione was a little bit desperate for him to understand. “I do...I don't know what's wrong...why it's still hurting...”

“Why did you think you wanted me?” Bill asked, not wanting to hear her answer, but needing it so this disaster of a consummation could be completed. He was looking at her again with those sweet, gentle blue eyes, filled with something she couldn't name and one thing she could: pain. He was hurting. She didn't know how to stop it.

“When you kiss me, there's nothing else in the world,” Hermione whispered, eyes honest and so sweet. 

Bill's eyes closed and he shuddered against her. “Oh, Merlin help me...I'm sorry, Hermione...” And with that, he kissed her again, full and deep and with that mind-stealing kiss. This time, as he kissed her, he began to move, his hips lifting, pulling away and pushing again.

Hermione groaned softly and, as she simply accepted this was what she had asked for, as the kiss reminded her of how much she _did_ want Bill, the pain she felt faded and her magic settled after one last, brilliant flare that caught his magic and made him move a little faster, a little harder, breaking the kiss to cry out, “Oh, fucking Graka, yes!” And he looked down at her, eyes hot blue and filled with that strange thing that she understood now. He needed this, needed her to have him like this, he _wanted_ her. He wanted _her._

Something he was doing as he moved was catching, and she started moving to meet him, to help him: lifting her hips as he pushed, letting them fall as he pulled, feeling something low and deep building inside. It wasn't pleasure, but she didn't know what it might be, and now wasn't the time to ask or to stop and go do research, so she continued meeting him push for push and let that strange thing grow and fill her like that sweet heat had done earlier.

“Yes, Bill,” she whispered, not sure why, but it seemed to be right. “Yes...”

“Hermione,” he said, still looking down at her, watching her eyes as she started to feel it rising inside her. “Yes, love. Yes, that's it. Reach for it, love.” He encouraged her as that strange feeling grew and tightened inside her, a matching tightness on her arm where the ghosts of the ribbons tattooed her skin and his. “Let it come, that's it...reach, love...just like that...”

That coiling tightness snapped suddenly and Hermione knew no sound or sight, only the feeling of magic pouring through her and into Bill, from Bill back into her as he cried out above her, even the hard, heavy pushes of him muted by the flood of magic.

Finally, finally it ended, the endless cascade trickling to a stop and the strange tightness that was inside her gone. In the wake of the magic, she felt euphoria filling her and believed that this was the pleasure, the climax, that she had read about so often.

Bill slowly lifted his head from where it was buried against her shoulder and his heavy body from hers.

Hermione made a little sound of protest at that, and he looked down at her, tired and energized and curious.

“Don't move,” she managed. “You feel so good.”

“Draped over you like a blanket?” he asked, settling again and hearing her sigh happily. 

“Yes. That was lovely, Bill,” she told him, not thinking well at all, yet her mouth somehow connected directly to her thoughts. “Will we be able to do it often?”

Bill chuckled softly. “As often as you like.” He kissed her lips gently, a little brush of his mouth against hers that made her sigh again and smile. “But it won't be like that. Our magic is mated now, so when we come together,” he shifted his hips just a touch, to make his point clear, “you'll feel the pleasure, but not the magic.”

“Oh.” Still not thinking, she continued, “Why did it hurt so much?”

He sighed softly. “Love, that was my fault. I should have asked if you knew what it was to lose your virginity as a witch. Those flares were in response to pain and fear. Once you accepted me, realized you wanted me, the flares stopped and your magic was able to snap its bonds to mate with mine.”

“Snap its bonds?” she asked, confused, more of her ability to think coming back.

“Mm-hmm – do you want me to move yet?” he asked, comfortable enough where he was, but not quite sure he could trust her judgement about what she liked yet. 

“No. You feel good, pressed against me like this. I like your weight.” She kissed his jaw, then his lips. “And you're more convenient to kiss, too.” She kissed him again, a lingering, open-mouthed kiss that caught his attention quite clearly. “Now, how did my magic snap its bonds?”

Bill laughed, then explained what he had meant. “Sex is incredibly intimate for Muggles, but for Wizarding folk, it can be more than just intimate. If the witch or wizard isn't willing, or doesn't accept or want sex with their partner, it can be painful for both involved, and that's just for people who are getting a leg over, not for married folks. If a witch or wizard is married, but they don't want their spouse, the flares can become so violent they can kill.” His serious mien made her pay very close attention now. “When you said you were sure, I understood that as understanding all of that, and wanting me. If I hadn't been able to soothe your magic with mine, if that kiss hadn't helped you remember how much you wanted me before...”

“I could have killed you?” Hermione asked, eyes wide, holding him closer. “Oh, God, Bill, I had no idea...”

“I know. It's why there's no rape in Wizarding culture – it's too dangerous for the rapist. It's also why any arranged marriages are carefully vetted for compatibility.”

“What about Fleur and Gabrielle? They aren't being given a choice – “ And she realized that bringing up the Delacouers was not necessarily the best idea at the moment.

“No, but they're also Veela, and that is a very different situation. They can bond with their arranged husbands without sex, so when it is time to consummate the marriage, there is no danger to them or their husbands.” His voice was quiet, but not pained. 

“I'm sorry, Bill. That was careless of me.”

“It's alright. I understand why you asked. I probably would have done the same,” he acknowledged their similarities when it came to curiosity. Finally, he held on to her and turned quickly onto his back, letting the much smaller witch use him as her mattress. She made a rather lovely blanket. “Now, back to your question of why it hurt at first. It kept hurting because you weren't as sure as you thought – until I kissed you again and you remembered that desire. It hurt at first because, well, you're a witch and all Wizarding folk hurt the first time they have sex.”

“Even men?”

“Even men.” He grimaced. “I remember it very well. It felt like someone had stabbed my balls with a hot fork. It didn't stop hurting until I remembered how much I wanted her – a friend and lover from Calais, before I was sent to Egypt – and then it eased off.”

“And you enjoyed it,” Hermione said, smiling.

“Not exactly. Magic is bound in the body, and it can't...really be let loose, at full strength, or mate with someone else's magic until that bond is snapped. Typically, that happens the first time a witch or wizard has sex, though I understand the sensations are completely different.”

“It felt like something was tightening in my abdomen, and when it snapped...my magic flared again, but it was also opened up to you, and I could feel your magic inside me, too.”

Bill nodded. “I've heard that from married witches. Even those that weren't virgins feel their magic mating with their husband's. For me, with my first witch, the feeling was at the base of my spine. It felt like fire building there, and, well, it wasn't a gentle lovemaking,” he admitted with a grimace. “We stayed together until I transferred to Egypt, and she married a nice Danish chap a couple of years later. She told me about the way magic mated, and that she felt that bond snapping again, deeper, and a flood of magic instead of a climax.”

“So...that wasn't a climax?” Hermione asked, disappointed. The euphoria was taking a long time to dissipate, and she rather liked the way she felt after, well, after the sex was over.

“No,” he said, grinning at her. “And you'll learn the difference. Soon.”

“How soon?” Hermione asked, still curious. She wriggled a little to get a better position that didn't squish her breasts quite so much.

Bill laughed. “Not quite that soon,” he said, stilling her wriggling. 

“Oh!” Hermione blushed.

Bill laughed again and kissed her cheek, then her nose, then her lips. “I love it when you blush,” he whispered against her lips before kissing her senseless.

_If this is what I get for blushing,_ Hermione thought, _I'll learn to love it, too!_

It wasn't long until the kisses gave way to caresses, and the caresses to the feeling of Bill over her, between her legs again. 

This time, when he pushed into her, her back arched in welcome and her cries were sounds of pleasure and encouragement.


	4. Honeymooning Part Two: Learning One Another

From Svalbard, from the sunlit days and nights in the cabin and tours on the ice with an appropriate guide, they travelled southeast to Finland, then followed the western coast through Sweden and Norway to the Baltic Sea, the days full of tourist's adventures and learning the history of the places they traveled through. Nearly seven days to cover the coast, lengthened by their time learning one another through the night and rising later, though they woke early enough. Their nights were warm and explored as much of one another as they did of the country they were visiting. To her surprise and his, they found similar things interesting during their tourists' wanderings, but, when interests diverged, they were curious enough to stay and learn about what fascinated the other, whether magical or Muggle. In their be, they found an easy passion, one that came from Bill's willingness to support and teach her as much as her love of learning and curiosity. For all that, though, they were quite sweet in their lovemaking, both in their bed and in their daily excursions, which made many older couples smile indulgently and reminisce.

It was in Norway at a little cabin with a view of the fjords that took Hermione's breath that she discovered her bossy swot attitude was, even after the war, covering something much sharper, much deeper, and much more vulnerable.

“That's it, love,” Bill said, encouraging her as he leaned against the pillows, his hands coasting over her body and slipping between her legs as she rode him carefully, learning this new position. He watched as she bit her lip and focused on him, and he realized that something wasn't quite right. She was working over him, but she wasn't getting anything out of it. He encouraged her a bit longer, then started soothing her with his hands, watching as she slowed, how she dropped her head and how uncertain she was. This wasn't the sweet, eager witch he'd had in his bed for the past week. This was...wrong.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her to rest against his chest, running his hands up and down her back, but declining to move her off of him. There were clues all over her body, and where he was buried inside her was the key to the trove of secrets she would unwittingly give away – all he had to do was find out what direction to go and she would tense and relax around him as he got closer to what was wrong.

“Was...Was I doing it wrong?” came the small voice from where her face was buried against his collar bone, a surprisingly fluffy length of hair concealing her from him as much as the angle she'd chosen to rest. Somehow, he knew she was hiding from him, no matter how incidental it was that he couldn't see her face from her cuddling and her hair.

“Not at all,” he assured her. He waited a moment, felt her relax, then continued, “But you weren't enjoying it, were you?” He asked as carefully as he could, but she still tensed in his arms and around him. This he would have to do something about. Now.

“It's all right. You don't have to like it all; neither do I.” Better clarify that quick – he felt hot drops slide against his skin when he said that, so… “We can find ways to compromise if there's something one of us enjoys the other doesn't like as much.” That didn't help as much as he'd hoped. “There's so much to try, sweetheart, and so many things that can wait, or we can simply try again later. There's no rush.” He tipped her chin up and looked down at her, unsurprised to see tears in her eyes and misery on her face. “Talk to me, Hermione,” he said. “Tell me what's the matter.”

She ducked her head again and trembled in his arms, not wanting to tell him, but knowing she had to. “I...I don't like it this way,” she admitted, then stopped. She didn't know how to explain it rationally. It _wasn't_ rational. And she was The Rational Witch, trademark pending.

That's when it hit him. They had gotten on so well, so easily, but, now he knew it happened with every relationship. It was going to be one of _those_ nights. 

“Why not?” he asked, “Or do you know?”

Of course he asked. He was that kind of wizard. And he wouldn't be put off with some vague notional nonsense she could drum up with meaningful pauses to indicate witchly things like menstruation, which would send Harry and Ron running, figuratively, if not literally, usually. He was smart, more experienced, and an expert at catching bullshit, as he had demonstrated quite handily in the time she'd been at the Burrow with the family, helping plan and prepare for the wedding. The wedding that became her wedding. And damn, if that wasn't still strange to think, even if she was quite content with the wizard she was married to. So, she'd just have to make herself cough it up, no matter how utterly insipid or stupid she sounded. 

She was going to mimic one of those virgin twit-brides from the romances, not even knowing how to say what she wanted to – needed to – say, because she hadn't really had anything more than the basic Muggle “this goes there” health class brief. She's been too busy surviving to listen to the adventures of Lavender and Parvati, too busy frantically gathering as much information as she could to play the games with the rest of the hormonal Hogwarts halfwits. She managed to forgive herself the incoherence and just started talking, because those beautiful eyes were not giving an inch and his hand was so gentle, even though he was, really, demanding an answer, however kindly.

“I...I don't...It's not...” she stopped and took a long, shaky breath in and out, in and out. “I don't know what I'm doing, Bill. I can't...tell. Am I moving right? Is there more I should do with my hands? Are the angles good for you? And the speed? Should I move faster? Harder? Bounce more? I just...It's too...I can't...There's...” and the tears came then.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said closing his eyes and pulling her back to his shoulder as she started crying in earnest – fear and worry and so many things that did _not_ belong in their bed, much less between them, helping him to realize that she really was very, very new to everything sexual, no matter how eager she had been. “It's all right.” Soothing, gentle words were the order of the day, at least until the waterworks stopped and she was ready to listen. But then she interrupted his soothing litany and he was utterly gobsmacked by what she had to say.

“And I know I'm not...pretty. Not like Fleur – and I shouldn't bring her up, but you loved her and I'm pretty sure you were lovers already, and we talked several times about her natural abilities, and she is so much more...more sexual than I am and knows so much! About sex, about wizards, about men and fashion and romance...” Then the part she didn't intend to say just slipped out, a tiny addition to her panic over a comparison to his former love, the Veela he – and she – had somehow known would never be his wife. “I just want to learn how to please you, even though I know it's not the same -” 

“No,” he said, stopping the that last sweet sentence. Fleur had been many things, but she was not the one to work to please him; he had always had to prove his desire for her. She did not please. She was pleased. She was worshipped and venerated, but she did not bend. This warm witch in his arms was, truth be told, a hell of a lot easier and so much more his speed. And, yes, more fun in bed, too. “No, Hermione. Yes, I loved her and, yes, we were lovers,” a soft, choked-off whimper told him that was not the best way to go at the moment, “but she isn't my wife. She didn't open her magic to me. She never woluld, even if we had married. Yes, she knows about men and sex, but there's a price for everything, sweetheart. She was not a sweet or gentle lover, and,” as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, “she's had lovers since she was fourteen.” Hermione stared at him, managing a few sniffles as she tried to process that. “She knew because she'd known for years, and she had many, many lovers of many ages. It's the way of Veela to take lovers early and learn as much as possible – sex isn't just pleasure for them, or making babies. It's as much a defense as anything, because she can control during men with sex and during sex. You're a witch, not a Veela, and you are a passionate, sweet girl – woman – and by all that is holy on this Earth,” he made sure he could see it in his eyes, “I love that I'm the only one to have touched you.”

He moved then, keeping a had on her cheek, thumbing away tears as he kept her from looking down, loving the shy blush that still took her over when he referenced her innocence so plainly. He rarely did, but when he did, oh, the way she melted a little inside. He knew it, knew the effect such words had on her, and he very carefully refrained from using it often. Now, though, now was the time.

“I am the only man who has ever seen your face in pleasure, the only one who has kissed your body and touched your skin. You've only had me inside you, touched me, held me against your breasts after – and, fuck, I sound like a damned lord or something, but taking you, being your first and only – it _matters,_ Hermoine. Knowing that, learning about you every day – I've come to care for you already, and not just for sex. You are sweet and funny and curious and so damned brave for taking me on, knowing little more than my name and my family – hell, because of my family – and being so generous in our bed...” He kissed her quickly and looked at her again, that fading blush renewed when he told her how much he liked her willingness, watching her eyes as he spoke. “You're my wife, my lover,” he took a breath, “one day, the mother of my children. You don't seem to care about the scars, and you haven't even asked about the full moon. You see _me.”_ She nodded, her eyes on his, intense and her body tense and tight around him. “I see _you,_ love. I see you as you let me get to know you, and you are incredible.”

“Oh,” she breathed, seeing the truth in his eyes and feeling it in the magic that had begun to flow between them as the emotions steadied and she stayed connected to him, still cuddled on his lap, with him inside her. She knew he liked her moving over him, but she didn't like it, and then somehow admitting that and blurting out how insecure she was, especially because he was moving on from the exotically beautiful Fleur, led to this.

He moved, then, helping her up as he moved from leaning against the pillows to mostly laying down, only a bit against the headboard and stretching out along the bed, with her on top of him. He managed to stay inside her, and he was still hard, mostly because of the grip she had on him, which she apparently didn't realize. She liked him inside of her, that much he had known, but it wasn't until now, with her clenched along him in a death-grip, that he realized how much she'd grown to like him inside her, and how much she didn't even realize it, as her body slowly relaxed against him and her magic-borne emotions calmed. Her magic and her heat stayed tight around his cock, snug against the root of him and, fuck, he loved it. And she didn't even realize it. He lay there with her, basking in her heat and her sweetness, letting her settle even more. He wasn't going to let this go, though.

Several long breaths passed, and he asked again, “What didn't you like about being on top?”

“All the things I said – I don't know what I'm doing and...” and there it was. The hesitancy of more than inexperience. There was something that she didn't like about riding him, and she knew enough to know that what she'd said before wasn't even close to the real reason, though all of it had contributed and it had all been true.

“And what else?” He wasn't coaxing, or demanding. Somehow it had been a question that she couldn't ignore – then again, he'd had more experience with questioning a difficult witch in an intimate venue, and he'd learned to lean with his magic to induce...responses. Verbal and physical – and there was the physical – a nice, sweet clench as she shivered a bit. She liked the feel of that magical push. And his insistence on an answer.

“I like it better when you're...” she stopped, not sure how to say it. She bit her lip and looked at him, the angle awkward as hell, but the sweet shyness in her eyes, that lost-little-innocent look – she didn't even know she was doing it.

He knew, though. He knew exactly what she needed. “You like it better when I'm in control?” he asked, voice gentle and careful, but certain in a way that she couldn't be. She was still an initiate, not even a novice, at sex and, when it came to sexual games, she was a blank slate. She probably knew they existed, the way he knew Muggle communication systems existed, but she didn't give a damn because none of it had mattered. 

She nodded against his shoulder and he closed his eyes, not sure if he should send a very special owl to thank those distant Malfoy and Delacouer ancestors for taking Fleur from him and giving him this sweet, innocent witch. She may be able to cast to kill, but the girl may as well have been raised by Muggle nuns for all she knew of men and sex. Sure, she was aware of the anatomical physics – what goes where and how it keeps from ripping skin from delicate bits through lubrication – but she knew fuck-all when it came to the dynamics of the bedroom. And all of it was his to teach her. 

“I feel safer,” she said, “and...and I trust you, Bill.” She lifted up enough to look in his eyes, her tears dried, and her nose mostly kept from dripping by sheer willpower and heavy sniffing. She haltingly managed to explain a little, and it wasn't near enough, she was sure. “I was in charge of...of a lot of things. Kept us safe,” she obviously wasn't talking about the past three months, but during the war, “kept us fed, even though there wasn't much. I...I didn't know what I was doing most of the time, but we had to keep going, and I – I – I don't want to feel like that again. Maybe, if you teach me what you like, I can learn to...” she stopped, words failing her again. How, exactly did one ask for sex lessons? Even if one was married, how did one _ask_ for _sex lessons_, especially without sounding like a...a...moron?

“You could learn to ride me,” he admitted, his voice calm and reassuring. “I could give you instructions, books, even take you to a few places for live demonstrations,” she blushed scarlet at that and he felt it, even though he didn't see it; he didn't smile, continuing, “but you want me to take care of you, don't you? To make sure you feel safe and secure when I'm making love to you. To teach you slowly, over time. Let you find out all the little things about me and you and how we fit together.” He hadn't been able to stop the lowering of his voice, the confident seduction of the witch who wanted something she didn't fully understand.

Hermione nodded, drooping again. She was about to cry again, and he could feel the upset in her magic, in the way she loosened around him and wiggled just a little, almost as if to dislodge him because of her embarrassment over her less-than-dominant desire.

“I'd like that. I'd like to teach you how to be the perfect lover for me, to show you how amazing it can be,” he stopped, realizing she'd tensed again, this time in fear as well as something else. Then it came to him. “But it's more than that, isn't it?” He thought about the many, many complaints he'd heard about her study habits and bookish ways, the way she irritated the hell out of Snape in the classroom and how the other teachers he'd heard speaking of her all had the same things to say. Oh, this witch...she was fucking perfect for him, and she didn't even know it. Couldn't know it. She didn't even know what it was she wanted. He did, though. He knew it, oh, so well, and she was a gift from Magic itself. 

“You like being a good girl, don't you?” He could have helped the seductive note that entered his voice. He had no intention of doing so, though. He had learned a great deal from Snape, and the importance of potions was almost as high on the list of 'What Snape Taught Billy Weasley' as Vocal Control and Timbre. Betwen those and Presence, little Billy had soaked up quite the education. He had been one of the very, very few people Snape had taken on for private voice lessons. One of less than a dozen who had ever heard the dark wizard _sing_ at full voice. One of perhaps three in the entire world who knew that incredible sound, and the only one of the entire Order of the Phoenix that could in any way, be considered his friend.

In return, Bill had soaked up more than a little bit of what had made Severus Snape a Dark wizard in more than hair and voice. He, of all the people Hermione knew, understood the Darkness of desire and how much it coloured him. And that knowledge, that perspective, had changed his view on many thins that others would quickly condemn. 

One of his favourite games, the Professor and the naughty student, he knew she would love. Among others. “You like to be taught and quizzed, to demonstrate how well you learn.” She squeaked, a surprised little sound and felt her shiver, little ripples and a fair amount of lust seeping into where he was still buried, rousing her this time, reminding her of where he was and what he was to her. “Do you like more than that? Maybe getting caught out of bounds? Or when you disobey the rules? Getting a detention?”

“Detention?” she breathed. “I...almost never got detention!” She wasn't even sure she'd gotten one, well, one that wasn't ultimately cancelled. 

“But you did break rules, didn't you,” he said, not able to stop the soft laugh that welled up in him. His little swot was desperate to be a good girl, still. To follow rules and learn and be so very, very good. 

“I did,” she admitted. “But I never got caught.”

“Mmm,” his tone said he didn't believe her.

“It was always the other two that fucked up somehow and got us in trouble.” She sniffed. She pushed up enough to look at him without strange and painful angles cricking her neck and giving her eyeball-muscle cramps. “It's true. I was the one who stole out of Snape's cupboard without getting caught. And I brewed Polyjuice that year, without getting caught. I'm the one who got Buckbeak loose, and then got Sirius out of the tower when he'd been caught. I took Umbridge out to the centaurs.” She stopped, hissing, “Bitch.” That the woman hadn't died in the Forest somehow just insulted the hell out of her. Still.

Bill laughed, then, holding her tight and kissing her hair, her cheek, then her lips, shifting their legs and rolling her over so she was under him before she knew it.

“Oh, all of those little confessions will get you a detention, Miss Granger,” he said, his voice dark and just a taste of stern, pulling up from the kiss and moving in her, gently, slowly reminding her of what had been interrupted. “If you want to play those games.” The offer was lighter in tone, a true offer. Something she could refuse without any repercussions.

Except…

“Ohhhh...I...” she shivered at the thought of an intimate detention with this wizard taking the place of her stern Potions professor, “I think maybe I do.”

“There are other games, too,” he nuzzled her neck, nibbling at her ear, his voice lowering into the seductive tones again, “the Sultan and the Slave-girl, the Master and his Apprentice, the dirty Prefect and the Head of House.” He stopped to kiss her again, feeling her responding to his words as much as, or possibly more than, her actions. “Then there are the games that might get us caught – the Quidditch Captain and his girlfriend, the Courtesan and her Lover – that one has us against the wall at a very important party, like the Ministry Ball at Yule, all in plain sight, with a badly-cast Notice-Me-Not keeping us out of sight. The Quidditch Captain and his girl are on the field or under the stands, just out of sight behind a banner, no spellwork. A good stiff breeze could show everything...”

Oh, she loved those, too. He could tell from her increased heartbeat, the way she canted her hips up quicker, holding still and high longer for him to stroke in deep. “But I think you like being a good girl much better than being a dirty girl, don't you, sweetheart? Being so good and following all the rules to get a reward, showing how very, very good you can be? And if you break a rule,” she began to pant now, her hips meeting his fast and hard, her heat clenching around him in a rhythm that showed her need for this new game, for him, “oh, if you break a rule, taking your punishment like a proper little witch, because you want to be good, don't you, sweetheart? You want to be my good girl, don't you?”

“Yes!” she panted, “Oh, sweet love of – yes! Please, Bill! Please, I need - “

“Tell me what you need.” He couldn't help it. “Good girls tell the truth.”

“Oh, I need to come, Bill! Please, can I come?” Her eyes were wide and hot and so damned sweet - He kissed her hard. He didn't say yes. Not quite yet. 

“Will you be my good girl?” he asked. “Will you play those games with me, be good and sweet and so very obedient?”

“Yes! Please, please please pleasepleaseplease!” She was near to screaming by the time she finished. She begged him. Fuck, she was perfect.

“Then you may come,” he said, moving faster and slipping his hand to play with her button. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be my good girl and come for me.”

She did, with a keen he felt through his magic and his heart.

He joined her in moments.

How in the Muggle Hells did he get so lucky? But he wasn't done quite yet.

He lifted up enough to kiss her, sweet little kisses on her lips, her cheeks, murmuring, “Good girl. Such a very good girl, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, blushing. She kissed him back then, a long, lingering kiss of satiation and understanding. “Professor?” she asked, seeing the quick grin flash on his face before he lifted a little more and they could see each other clearly. “When is my next lesson?”

Bill smiled then, crushing her to him as he managed them to the side, then leaning back just enough to have her mostly on him, but to one side, her weight more on the bed. “Lessons are three hours, Miss Granger, and that was only the first portion. Tell me what you learned.”

Hermione blushed again, and told him, eyes sparkling with pleasure and a sweet eagerness to please that took his breath away. Her earlier hesitance and fear were forgotten in the familiar verbiage of teacher and student, his expertise demonstrated and her willing, eager learning given so very sweetly.

It wasn't long before the second part of the lesson started, and, nearly an hour later, it was time for the last portion: clean-up, which had to be done with tongues and without hands. It took longer than the three hours allotted to finish the lesson and the cleaning, so she received a detention to be served at a later date for going over class time. They fell asleep shortly after that, simple admissions of how much they had both enjoyed the turn their lovemaking had made and affectionate kisses barely exchanged before exhaustion took them both.

***

In the morning, they rose, bathed separately, and sat together at the table with morning coffee and a spread provided by the guest-house's House-Elves. Light conversation about the plans for the day over breakfast turned into a heavier conversation when the plates were cleared and the coffee was refilled for the last time.

“I'm sorry for bringing up Fleur last night,” Hermione finally said, nearly choking on the words. “It wasn't well-done of me.”

“It's all right,” he said, looking down, then up at her. “It's bound to happen at various times, but I'll never mention her to hurt you,” he promised.

“I never thought you would! And I wouldn't - “ she started.

“I know.” He stopped her before she could get up a good head of steam. “You're not like that.” At her curious look, he grinned, “A jealous shrew. I know she wasn't your favourite person or Ginny's, but no small part of that is that she is Veela. It's a natural reaction for a witch to have. Veela are a threat to witches. Your magic didn't like the way she gathered the attention of every man in the vicinity.” He let her consider this for a moment and nod. “Don't let the World Cup fool you, either. Dad is susceptible, too. She just has to be in close proximity and not actively muting the allure.” 

She grimaced. No wonder Molly couldn't stand her. “When no males were around, we got along well enough,” Hermione admitted. Unlike Molly and Ginny with Fleur. But it was time to let Fleur go, on her end at least. 

Bill nodded, took another drink of coffee. “Hermione, I loved her. Part of me always will.” At her nod and the way she sank her teeth into her lip, he reached out and took her hand, gathering her attention again. “But she's not my wife. I care about you already, Hermione. There are things you're willing to do that she wasn't – and not just in bed.” He grinned a little at her blush. “She didn't like my career and didn't want to travel with me. Shell Cottage is mine, and I want to live there one day, raise a family, but...not yet. Can you understand that?”

“I do,” Hermione said quickly. “I'm not ready to start having children, and I need to go back and...finish school...” She took a deep breath, “But I can study anywhere, if you want to travel for work – unless you don't...want me with you?”

“Hermione, I want you to join me and help me research. You can't do the Curse-Breaking – it's not safe for witches – but you'd be first on my support team, second only to me. I can wait a year, though,” he said, drawing her hand up to his lips. 

“What do you mean, it's not safe for witches? I've broken a lot of curses, not just on people, either.”

“Those were light-weight, not set-pieces that have been around for decades, if not centuries or longer. They were mostly on people, if I recall – you were a quick field-medic. That's not what I deal with. Most of the time, even getting to the main portion of the cursed treasure or whatever is covered with Dark magic and the kind of curses and magic that warp feminine magic, but not masculine magic. And don't look at me like that,” he said, his tone turning stern at her narrowed eyes and frown. “Witches are more receptive to magical fields and energies than wizards. It has to do with the ability to become pregnant, specifically with magical children, which no wizard has ever been able to do, no matter how desperately some have tried over the millennia.” His voice softened again as her face turned more thoughtful. “Witches can't get another witch pregnant, either. Even with magic's help – ova cannot fuse together. It's been tried, and it's failed, so many times that there are about three cases worth of the reference materials from pretty much every magical society that records written records in the Gringotts archives. That extends to all magical races. So, yes, too dangerous.” He paused, took a sip of his only slightly cooler caffeine. “Why do you think so few Death Eater wives had more than one child? Or that Bellatrix Lestrange had none, no matter how her husbands or lovers tried?”

“Oh.” Hermione nodded slowly. “I'd like to be on your support team, then,” she said, “even though that means you'll have to wait a year for me to finish school.” She shifted a little at that, somewhat ashamed she hadn't finished on time, or even early, despite the insane circumstances that had become her life.

“Maybe McGonagall will let me stay in the castle with you? If I'm on the team working to rebuild and re-ward it, take out a few dozen curses as we go?” Bill's idea struck gold – as he figured it would. He would have to make sure to owl the woman as soon as he could, and get in touch with Gringotts to make sure the Curse and Ward Director got in touch with the school. Goblins didn't like most wizards or witches, but they did appreciate their employees and knew where future employees came from.

A slow, brilliant smile graced him for his offer. He couldn't help it. He had to do it. He lowered his voice and added, “Perhaps, Miss Granger, you shall serve your first detention on September first.”

It was July fifteenth. The little gasp and the bright blush were perfect as she nodded, a bit shy, but bright-eyed at the idea.. He pulled her out of her chair and over into his lap.

“Do you still want to play those games, love?” he whispered in her ear, leaving all the teasing and seducing tones out of his question. He could feel her shiver against him as she nodded. “Then I think it's best we cut the trip short,” he said, nuzzling her cheek and kissing her jaw. “Go back to Shell Cottage, start figuring out all the rules for our games - yes, love, there are rules," he added at her quizzical look, " and make the arrangements with McGonagall. Spend as much time in bed as we can,” he kissed her. “Maybe you won't be allowed any clothes for the next six weeks,” he murmured against her lips, “even outside.”

“Bill!” she managed, leaning into him and hugging him, hiding her face as she tried not to think about how much that made her ache and how wet she was getting. “That's wicked!”

“Mm, but if you're my slave-girl, my good girl, then you'll only be allowed your belly-chain and whatever jewelry I give you,” he murmured, “and I want to watch you working in the garden, the sun on your skin, being good and making sure you have no tan-lines.”

“Oh,” she swallowed. “Even though the jewelry would leave tanlines?” she asked.

“If you have any tanlines on August 31st, you will have been a very, very bad girl,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. 

He saw her bite her lip and smile. “In the garden, Bill? Naked?” Her voice was so quiet it was hard to hear, even this close.

“Yes, and yes,” he replied, just as quietly.

She chewed her lip a minute, then let it slip from between her teeth as she looked up at him. She was a natural, even though she didn't even know what she was doing. “Well, I suppose good girls don't get clothes, Sir,” she replied, eyes bright and eager, “and I'm sure there's a great deal to be done at the cottage...inside...and out.”

The smile he gave her before he kissed her took her breath away.

*****

It had taken hours to cancel the plans for the rest of the honeymoon, but most of it was refunded. They used her bellychain as the Portkey it had initially been to take them directly home.

It was early afternoon, cliffside, and Hermione laughed as her husband picked her up and carried her across the threshold at Shell Cottage. 

“I can't believe this tradition is the same in both Muggle and Magical worlds!”

“It's not,” Bill admitted. “The first time I carry you into our home is a promise.” His eyes grew intense, that bright, searing blue that she had come to love, so very much. “I promise to provide shelter for you, protect you from the elements and from the harm others would bring. I promise to provide nourishment for you and any children we have.” He smiled at her sweet blush, and continued. “I promise to be here for you at the end of every day, and to warm you in the night.”

“You do,” she whispered, her blush growing brighter in the afternoon light. “Oh, Bill, you do.”

Their first kiss in Shell Cottage was there in the entry, shortly followed by their first impromptu copulation in Shell Cottage – against the closed front door. 

Hermione cried out as she climaxed, her skirt rucked up around her hips and her shirt not even untucked, her belly chain, that wicked little bit of gold that he had magically clasped around her waist the morning after their first night, catching the magic between them and sending echoes of that amazing first time through her, his magic filling her as well and deeply as he had.

With a groan and a soft laugh, Bill joined her, delighted as she giggled at their lack of self-restraint.

“So...does this mean we've christened the house?” she asked, her blush indistinguishable from her passion-flushed face.

“Not even close,” he growled in her ear. “We have the kitchen, the breakfast nook, the living room, the bedrooms...”

As he continued listing rooms, Hermione snuggled into him. 

No, she hadn't expected to be married, not yet, but here she was, with the man she'd not even known she'd dreamed about.

To hell with those romance-novel twits. She had her happily-ever-after in her arms, waiting on her to say which room would be best for their next round.

A shower sounded lovely, especially after an international Portkey and a sweaty shag fully clothed. 

How lovely that her husband agreed. 

It was even lovelier that she wouldn't be getting her clothes back until it was time to board the Hogwarts Express on the first day of September.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta on this one; ch 4...still feels a little rough. Let me know if I need to smooth it out some more. 
> 
> I like this one. I like Bill/Hermione. And I may come back to visit this version of the HPficverse again, but I don't know when, or if, or what the story would be about. 
> 
> I have not abandoned the other tales - I just...haven't had the time when I have something like an idea or the ideas when I've had something like the time. I am still trying, though...
> 
> Happy Reading!  
~TA


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